


The Rush That's So Steady

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:37:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam felt ill with the way Dani looked at him. Like she could see Zayn in the dark lines of his face, in every wounded excuse or apology. Like she knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rush That's So Steady

Zayn can’t see past the glass in his hand, past the rush, past tonight.

Liam’s so steady. Even with her watching from across the room.

They dance, Liam’s hands on Zayn’s hips, and meet somewhere in the middle.

Then later when they’re finally alone, when Zayn lies down across his bed, tugs lazily at the buttons of his shirt, Liam’s there so fast.

“What are you doing?” he says. Hand over Zayn’s. Ever the sensible one.

“I just want one night,” Zayn says. In his head it sounds so sure. It pours from his lips, though, copper bubbles framing Liam’s face.

“We had that.”

Zayn blinks and the room spins.

“I want more.”

Liam sighs, but his hand never moves. There on Zayn’s chest, his shirt already half unbuttoned. The tips of each of his fingers pressing into his skin.

“You’re drunk,” Liam says slowly, like he has to manage to find the words in the darkness.

“I wanted it before, though,” Zayn shoots back, “You did, too.”

“Not like this,” he groans, pressing forward, their lips so close he can taste the alcohol on Zayn’s breath. He should say no.

He really should.

“I want to kiss you,” he says instead.

Zayn offers the same mischievous smirk that had Liam pinning him down the last time, frantically undressing each other on Liam’s bed.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Shut up,” Liam quips, unable to suppress a smile. Alcohol, he knew, was one thing on the short list that made Zayn loud and opinionated.

Zayn shifts forward, presses a kiss to the edge of Liam’s jaw.  _Is this okay?_

Then he kisses him again, a little higher, and Liam sighs.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“I want to.”

He pushes him down again, but somehow they’re chest to chest. Each of Zayn’s breaths matches his own.

“You’re drunk,” Liam reminds him, Zayn’s lips on his jaw again, his chin, his cheek.

“I’m not that drunk,” Zayn mumbles, “You’re not taking advantage.”

He pulls away then and watches Liam like he’s suddenly discovered a weakness, a chink in the ever sturdy armor.

“That’s it, right?” he says, “You don’t want to corrupt me?”

When Liam can’t meet his eyes, he edges forward, “Or is it something else?”

Liam’s hand fists into his shirt, tugs on him like the words are just too much.

“Zayn, don’t-”

“Then touch me.”

“I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes.

“You  _won’t_. There’s a difference.”

He lets the silence settle between them before lifting up again, placing a kiss on the edge of Liam’s mouth.

“Can’t you give me one night?” he says quietly, reaching up to cup Liam’s jaw, turning his face to him, “We can pretend like it never even happened. She’ll never find out. I swear.”

And there it is. An acknowledgment. Brash, but he had to.

And at least now he’ll know for sure.

A minute, the longest of his life, where neither says a word.

Then he drags his hand down Zayn’s chest and there’s no mistaking. He fumbles with the buttons of his trousers. He can’t quite meet his eyes.

“Is this what you want?” he says, voice so low Zayn can barely hear.

No, he wants to say. Not with you ashamed. Not with you questioning every second of it.

But he lets a shaky “Yes,” slip out instead and Liam takes him in his hand, wraps his fingers around him so tightly he can’t remember why he ever second guessed it.

He can fake it, if it’s what Liam wants. He can be nonchalant. Hasty.  _I don’t want your heart, I want something a little lower._

And with their lips pressed close, close enough to almost be a kiss, Liam finds a rhythm that makes his throat tight, makes his mouth water.

“Can I touch you?” Zayn breathes. Because even with Liam’s hand down there, it still feels wrong. And raw. And jagged.

Liam groans, bites down on his lip.

“Don’t,” he says, and Zayn fists into the covers instead, carries the weight of the world in every gasp. He can see her face, confused maybe. Hurt?

More likely.

Nursing a drink downstairs with Eleanor’s hand on her shoulder. But Liam rocks into him and nothing else matters. He rests his other hand by Zayn’s face and he moans, grinding down between Zayn’s legs. Still he manages that same pained expression, a sorry mix of regret and resentment. Of hunger, watching the way Zayn forms his lips into his name, then just a whimper.

“Liam, please,” trailing off, shattering into millions of tiny evil pieces.

He’ll give him this. A moment. A night.

But tomorrow will be different. Liam tells himself this, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss him like he had the first night. But it was too much then. And it was too much now.

He felt ill with the way Dani looked at him. Like she could see  _him_  in the dark lines of his face, in every wounded excuse or apology. She knew.

Still Zayn’s hands find his chest, then his neck, then the roots of his hair. He pulls and whispers and begs so Liam slows for him, slides his thumb over the slit, pressing in until Zayn shivers.

He kisses his cheek. Wipes his hand on the sheet by his hip.

“The last time,” he says, still hard but too tired to do anything but pull away. He watches Zayn maybe hoping for some gallant exclamation. Of his love? For good measure.

Zayn smiles, lazy and content now, face flushed a dull pink, “Thanks,” and Liam’s gone.


End file.
